


Remedy for Two

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Benny Lives, Cain tries to knock some sense into Dean, Caring Cain, Comfort Food, Copious amounts of tea, Dean Loves Pie, Dean in Denial, Dean just needs a home, Emotional Constipation, Family, Feeding, Fluff, Friendship, Hinted Dean/Benny, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pie, Pre-Slash, Romance, Season/Series 09, Self-Hatred, Slow Romance, h/c_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8246152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: Maybe Cain’s ‘home sweet home’ just won’t be as sweet with Dean there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for h/c_bingo Round 7 for the prompt ‘comfort food or item/feeding someone’.

 

It takes a long time for Dean to visit Cain again, partly because he’s positive Cain’s not there anymore (even though he is), but most of it because Dean’s a goddamn coward and can’t have Cain as a friend because Cain will never stay. The man’s solitary for a reason, doesn’t want to be bothered, probably never wants to see Dean again until he plans to make good on his promise and put him down.

Dean was worthy, Cain gave Dean the Mark, blah blah blah. There _is_ no more story between them, no more words and no possibility of something more.

And maybe Cain’s ‘home sweet home’ just won’t be as sweet with Dean there.

It may take Dean a long time, but when it finally happens it’s _accidental:_ he’s driving and he drifts and then he comes back to himself and he’s _there_ , like baby (or he) intended it all along. The lack of anything even minuscule between him and Cain doesn’t stop Dean from driving there at least four times every week, doesn’t stop him from sitting in his baby and sulking, hoping maybe that since she cursed Dean by leading him here that she’ll _somehow_ give him the courage he needs to go up to the door, knock, see the expression on Cain’s face and determine whether he needs to run or not.

This goes on for even longer, this _waiting_ , this waiting for Cain to pull back the drapes in the window and formally acknowledge him, this waiting for Cain to open the door, to turn and face him when he’s attending to his bees.

Mostly Dean watches like some stalker, watches until his eyes are bound to bleed or he passes out from exhaustion or boredom or both. The watching gives him something that Dean isn’t about to call peace of mind, but it’s _something_. Cain lets him have it too, doesn’t seem to care about Dean’s unexpected arrivals and extended stays, parked out in his yard like it’s the only place left on Earth. Sometimes to Dean it is.

The man doesn’t chase him off, doesn’t glare at him or shout or threaten his life again. So Dean just sits there because there’s no place else he needs to be, not really.

And it’s _weeks_ before Dean goes up to the door during the cover and profound silence of darkness, because Sam’s been breathing down his neck and he needs to be in the same space with someone _other_ than his ever-loyal baby. It needs to be someone familiar too, someone he’s been preoccupied with for months, drawn to for reasons unknown and irrelevant but for Dean’s precarious sanity. Someone who doesn’t hate him and hasn’t blatantly discouraged him.

Dean’s surprised that Cain answers the door immediately after one tentative knock, almost _during,_ like he’d been waiting on the other side of the door for god knew how long. Cain opens the door wide too, as if he has nothing to hide from Dean now that he has given him the Mark.

Then he proceeds to tell Dean the strangest words he’s ever heard. “I’ve been expecting you for weeks now, Dean. Come in, please.”

Amazed at his hospitality, because Cain was _soooo_ gracious the first time around, Dean considers that Cain has no reason to lure him into a trap until he finishes off Abaddon. Revenge and all that. Cain shoots him an exasperated look, one that should spook Dean enough to head off and drive somewhere else, but he politely stamps his boots on the rug and brushes past Cain.

Dean refusing to stay for more than an hour turns into him refusing to stay over the night. Dean refusing tea turns into Cain refusing his help on preparing it. And Cain refusing to allow Dean to help around the house turns into him refusing to allow Dean to help around both the house _and_ the yard. In other words, it doesn’t take long for them to become used to each other’s company. Dean tries not to talk much, but sometimes Cain encourages him and sometimes he doesn’t and _both_ times he listens attentively, as if intrigued by the hunter’s pathetic little life.

Then there are quiet nights and small touches, like Cain brushing Dean’s knuckles as he hands him a cup of tea, or Dean wrapping a throw around Cain’s shoulders when he joins him on the hammock Dean convinced him to invest in.

And Dean slowly, _slowly_ starts to realize that just maybe Cain doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

* * *

 

Their slow-building friendship, then slower-building relationship, however, doesn’t lack road bumps.

The first morning they spend together, Dean still warm and heady from Cain’s happy surprise at seeing Dean far earlier in the day than usual (because he _still_ hasn’t let himself spend the night yet), Dean makes some brief comment about Benny, so offhand he barely remembers the words. Cain’s _response_ is what he’s reeling from.

Cain’s leaning against the counter in the kitchen and sipping his morning tea (Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen him drink coffee), watching Dean comfortably over the brim of the cup. Dean gets lost on his hair for a minute, which Cain hasn’t cut since they’ve started whatever this is, and revels secretly on how lush it looks as the slate gray locks tumble down the curve of his neck and pop out from behind his ears, leading him to habitually tuck them behind again.

He’d be happy to lose himself in thoughts of running his fingers through that hair for a little while longer, but Cain probably necessarily breaks the silence.

“I sent Benny blood bags last week,” Cain informs, sipping at his still steaming tea. Dean tries to remember what he even said before Cain fetched Dean’s tea and the hunter decided to dangerously get lost in daydream land. Sometimes he isn’t so sure that Cain _can’t_ read his mind.

Dean’s cup clatters loudly as it’s dropped into the saucer he’s still holding. “You did what now?”

He just manages to wrap his hand around the cup before it falls onto the tile in Cain’s spotless and - Dean shouldn’t say it - cozy kitchen. Cain’s eyes peer at him from above the brim of his cup again, amused and maybe even mischievous. Cain does delight in ruffling Dean’s feathers, though usually in ways that will help him to unload or relax. The look further catches Dean off-guard until he’s tongue-tied and impatient and sort of turned on by the way the guy’s looking at him. Dean supposes he’s been ruffling a few of Cain’s feathers all along too.

Cain puts his tea down on the counter in order to better explain himself. “I saw no reason why he should continue to suffer.” Suffer… because Dean was the only person Benny had and Dean couldn’t have him, not when there was a possibility of reconciling with Sam. Not when Dean’s _still_ holding onto it. Cain never asks him to stay but it’s always an option, meaning that Dean can go back and forth between him and his brother almost effortlessly. _Almost._ If it didn’t always feel like a betrayal. It’s also not lost on Dean that Cain’s nonchalant tone and posture reflect that to him, being involved with a vampire is completely normal, when Dean never even thought they met. “Not with how much you dote on him.”

As if he could make Dean feel better with _that_ , when Dean is completely incapable of cutting every single tie to Benny. Still, it’s surprisingly not mocking when Cain has every reason to be. “But,” Dean splutters, cuts himself off and swallows. It won’t do to look _and_ feel like a fool in Cain’s eyes. He doesn’t know how the hell to continue as he berates himself. 

Cain pushes his tea away and Dean stares at his hand, at his curled index finger, and he hopes Cain doesn’t find it rude that Dean can’t even have the common decency to _look_ at him. “How did I know about Benny?” His tone is low and _so_ soft, like they’re taking about Cain’s garden and not Dean’s life, which he comes here every damn time to escape from even though Cain never lets him for long, never perpetuates the illusion that this is not real life. Just a different life. A life Dean still has to _choose._ “Dean, when I am interested in someone I make it a point to keep myself well-informed. You’ll do best to remember that. Now, are you going to sit down and drink your tea before I’m forced to reheat it?”

 _Damn Cain_ , Dean thinks, putting his tea down without paying attention to the insult it would show Cain. Since when does he think about shit like that anyway?

He leans against the counter, fingernails digging into the wood. “I just don’t get why you’d care about a vampire? No,” Dean shakes his head and starts to pace, glancing nervously outside the window as if expecting to see Benny out there. “Let me rephrase that, I don’t get why you’d be interested in him.”

“He’s not the only one I’m interested in,” Cain relates, and Dean gets the distinct impression that he’s flirting. “He’s not even the first.” Dean swallows and does not make the slightest bit of eye-contact with Cain. How can he after that? Dean _is_ the first, after Colette, that is. He _knows_ that much, _knows_ Cain has never invited someone in, has never enjoyed someone’s company after her and before Dean. Because of that, there’s a pressure in Dean’s head that’s _building._ “I gave you the Mark for a reason.” _Building…_

“Yeah, because I’m worthy. Worthy of killing Abaddon anyway. Which I am, but that’s not the point.”

Cain’s eyebrows raise, a hand running through that awesome mane of hair that Dean can’t ignore but that’s not the point right now and nor will it ever be. Cain waits as Dean stares, as if challenging him, as if he wants Dean to ask him explicitly just why the hell he wants him here and what the hell he just meant by _interested._

Dean settles on the most honest answer he can give. “The point is… you don’t have to help my friends to get me to like you. Or trust you.” Dean already does both, has maybe even before that first and only time he knocked. Since then, Cain’s front door has always been unlocked for him, and the back door to his garden always open.

“That’s not my objective.”

“Then what is?” Dean almost cuts in, cringing as Cain firmly closes his mouth and shoots him an irritated and ‘growing even more irritated by the second’ look.

Cain’s hands clench for a moment, releasing just as quickly. Dean’s gaze flits between both cups of tea, no longer steaming. He takes in every word as if they’ll be the last words Cain will ever see fit to say to him.“Boy, you haven’t been the first to vex me and you will not be the last. I will inform you that those who have irritated me thus before I have scarcely been able to let breathe, let alone invite into my home.” He pushes away from the counter then and Dean glances up in alarm, watches Cain’s face soften after a beat. “I wish you would give me more credit for my decisions, and trust me when I say that I know how to handle you.”

As if Dean’s the _only_ one skirting around the issue at hand. Still, he doesn’t really appreciate Cain’s _word choice._ “Handle me,” Dean chuckles. “Look, old man, there’s no handling…”

Cain’s the one to cut him off this time, eyes brimming with hellfire. “Now sit down before I…”

“You can’t keep me here.” As if Dean even remotely feels like he’s being kept, as if Dean isn’t screaming inside that he’s so goddamn sorry and that he wants to stay, _wants_ Cain to be interested in him.

Cain jerks back an inch, barely noticeable but Dean _notices_. The guy’s practically impenetrable, but this is the second time Dean’s broken through to him and he hopes the backlash won’t be more than he can handle. It’s as if Cain rewinds after that: collecting himself immediately, schooling himself to the state he was in before this whole conversation. The one that would make these months null and void, where Dean would have to run _again._

Dean does know _something_ though, knows that Cain wants him but not enough to pressure him into staying. He knows that Cain will never see them as null and void, not even if Dean were to beg for it, but that he would let Dean go in the end.

“The door’s right behind you, Dean Winchester,” Cain reminds and Dean turns, starts walking until he’s in the front entryway. He thinks about stopping when it’s clear Cain has followed him, only does when Cain starts up again. The guy who can be scary as hell with only a look isn’t usually much one for talking, which is why all of this is startling Dean way more than it should. “Typical. You will never allow yourself one piece of comfort, not even if it would please me. Then again, how is this going to work if you can never ever relax, if you can’t ever _want_ something for yourself other than your petty misery? And it is that, Dean, before you see fit to refute me: petty, _weak_ , a sickness on the strength you possess, tenfold now that I’ve given you that Mark.”

“To make me like you.”

Silence then, and Dean desperately wants to know the look that crosses Cain’s face, or the lack of one, given he’s still facing the door and _still_ refuses to turn around.

It’s no wonder Cain isn’t done yet after Dean’s figuratively spit in his face. “There are two things I do not give out freely,” Cain warns. Dean’s musing over just how screwed up he is to turn Cain from amused to furious within minutes. Then again, he’s always been one for bringing out the worst parts of people. “One is that mark on your arm,” a heavy sigh, “and the other is what little is left of my heart. What little _Abaddon_ saw fit to leave me. However, one is not tied to the other. This home is your home, Dean, if you choose to accept it, only I _will_ shut that door permanently if you ever question the genuineness of my intentions again. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Dean grits out, heart feeling like a lead ball in his chest. Sam always could do this sappy shit, hold these conversations that cut too deep, but Dean never could. He’s surprised he’s not out the door yet. “I guess I’ll leave you to your bees then.”

Cain’s hand lands on his shoulder and Dean stops, hand no longer turning the door knob as Cain whispers in his ear. “It would make it easier for you if I ordered you to stay, I’m aware of that.” A pause for emphasis, because he knows that Dean knows he’s right. “But if I have to resort to that, then this has already gone too far in the direction I never desired it to go in.”

Dean swallows thickly, throat suddenly unbearably dry. If he leaves, will the door still be unlocked the next time he decides to show up? “I know. I don’t expect anything from you.”

“You’re wrong,” Cain tells him, firm and sure. A weight at Dean’s back that he _could_ lean into. If he weren’t Dean Winchester. “All you expect are the wrong things. And all you need right now is a home cooked meal, a quiet space to reflect and a bed that you spend more than four hours in.”

“And a mouthful of booze too.”

Dean can _feel_ the disappointment pervading the room. “I will not support your drinking habit under my roof, Dean. I will, however, feed your sweet tooth.” Cain’s hands settle on his shoulders then, rubbing in the right spaces to ease the tension. Dean relaxes as much as he’s able, allows Cain to guide him back into the kitchen even though he could turn away at any point and Cain would let him. He’s let Dean walk away so many times before this point that Dean can’t believe he’d let him stay. If _Dean_ wants it.

Except Dean’s not quite ready to make _that_ decision.

“May I?” Cain asks, calm voice a balm to Dean’s tumbling thoughts. He looks down and there’s a navy blue blindfold in Cain’s palm, appearing comfortable enough. He nods and Cain wraps it snugly around his eyes, tying it loosely in the back. “Too tight?” Dean shakes his head at that, amazed Cain wasted time to ask him when he knew Dean would say no. His fingers palm the material where it covers his eyes and travel the length of it, startled at this unexpected development but trusting too. Cain’s always so careful, and he’s just had a taste of Dean almost bolting.

Dean barely hears him leave the room, though it doesn’t bother him when he does it several times and only stays gone for a few seconds. Dean can hear his footsteps well-enough and he suspects its intentional. It just makes him… curious. Too bad the blindfold’s too damn thick to see any outlines.

“Alright,” Cain says. Dean’s fingers undo the flimsy knot and his eyes bulge at the sight covering every inch of the kitchen table before him.

He smells the lemon meringue first: sweet lemons and _home,_ but the key lime is the first to catch his eye, not its usual pale yellow but so green it’s like the Earth’s condensed into that one little pie. The other pies are basic but equally as yummy: apple and pumpkin, blueberry and cherry, and there’s even one that looks like a peach. The one closest to Dean is a coconut custard, topped sky high with whipped cream and secretly exactly how he likes it.

That decision before? Well, Dean could make it and blame it on the pies.

His mouth waters more as he continues to ogle, any second longer and he’ll start drooling, but as Cain pushes him down into a chair the whole world narrows in on just that: his warm hand on Dean’s chest; Dean’s own gripping that wrist, fingernails nearly digging into Cain’s flesh as he prepares to beg him for what he has every right to refuse. 

“Feed me,” he says, because _god_ he needs to lose some control for a while, otherwise he’s liable to make the worst damn decision of his life and walk out that door again. And who’s to say it won’t be for the last time? 

The look in Cain’s eyes is pure sex: eagerness and undeniable joy and lust enough that if the table was clear he might just let Cain take him right there. His words are like sticky, gooey honey, dripping into Dean’s ear with relish. “With pleasure.”

Cain kneels down before him and it takes Dean’s breath away. He almost jumps out of his seat as Cain’s hands caress his ankles after he’s removed Dean of his boots. Cain’s a lonely old guy, Dean tells himself, and if anyone else were here than this exact thing would probably be happening. Except Cain asked Dean to _trust_ that he knows what he wants, and Dean has to do that if he ever plans on calling Cain _family._

The first forkful is the color of limes, laden with whipped cream and piled high with Dean’s favorite - only - comfort food. Dean doubts he can swallow that first mouthful - there’s so much on the fork - but Cain is insistent as he pushes the first bite toward him, expecting Dean’s mouth to open and he doesn’t disappoint.

He’s reminded of feeding baby Sam and the whole choo choo train ploy every time Sam was a kid, sick and refusing to eat. Sam would always relent if Dean did that, face lighting up like it always would when his big brother showered him with all the things big brothers were supposed to do in the first place.

Hell, Sam had even fed him a couple of times when he was sick, Dean barely lucid enough to remember more than brief flashes. As much as he hated being worn down like that, those are still better memories than others, memories to remember when Sam realizes that Dean can’t only not be trusted, can’t only not be his brother anymore, but also that he can’t stand to look at Dean any longer and leaves. Who will Dean have then? Benny, who he let go a long time ago and who it pains him to keep in touch with even just over the phone, given Dean’s betrayal? Cain, who gave him the Mark that’s slowly changing him day by day?

“Distracted?” Dean comes back blissfully to the pie literally exploding in his mouth: its tartness completely on point yet unique too, the whipped cream taking the edge off and clinging to the top of his mouth like clouds. He opens his mouth to talk after chewing and swallowing most of it, but a second forkful that Cain slips into his mouth prevents him from getting any words out. “You’re hurting, Dean, and I have a remedy for everything.”

 _He doesn’t even know me._ The surety in Cain’s eyes and posture refutes that, and probably a dozen other things too.

Dean works his way through the second bite quickly and smiles. This _is_ working: he is relaxing, stripping off some of the weight, some of the guilt, even some of the things he thought he was so sure about. It’s not enough to make him think things will work out on their own, but it’s enough to keep him in his chair, watching Cain animatedly as he loads up the fork a third time.

“You do, huh? You probably have a pie flavor for everything too.”

“Grace me with your presence for a while longer and you’ll find out,” Cain teases. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard him tease before and he kinda wants more of it. Wants more of whatever Cain’s willing to give him. As if he just spaced out again, Cain sighs, dropping the fork into the pie plate and setting it down on the table. Dean’s itching to leave then, not only disappointed at the break in pie but worried about Cain changing his mind, seeing something in Dean that he doesn’t like. Cain licks his lips, moves to place a hand on Dean’s knee but pulls back upon seeing the tense set of Dean’s shoulders. “ _I_ need this, Dean, and while I have no right to speak for you I expect your response is the same.”

Dean clears his throat, then takes a moment. This time, he lets Cain’s hand rest warm and heavy on the back of his neck, easing fingers through his hair. “It is. Think it’s kinda always been, I just…”

“Can’t say it, I am aware. And I also know that it will take more than pie to coax it out of you. I must warn you though, Dean, I am an infinitely patient man when I have good reason to be.” And that’s something Dean is half-grateful and half-terrified about.

Yet every bite of pie is better than the one before it and every one comes with Cain’s small smile, and the weight is lopped off of Dean rotting branch by rotting branch until he’s almost sure that he can stay the night _just this once._

**FIN**


End file.
